


And This Is How I See You

by Emjayelle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Crushes, Domestic, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Neighbors, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-02 14:25:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjayelle/pseuds/Emjayelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For months now they've been casually meeting in the lobby of their building, and Merlin's been harbouring a (totally not creepy and perfectly normal and not at all pathetic) crush on his neighbour, Arthur. As luck would have it, they both suddenly find themselves on their own for Christmas, and well… They say there's nothing like a bit of holiday cheer to bring people together. (And pancakes. And toys. And no matter what Arthur says peppermint tea is a legitimate thing. Also cake.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And This Is How I See You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [giselleslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giselleslash/gifts).



> Dear giselleslash, I really got hooked by your M/A-as-neighbours-alone-on-Christmas prompt, and after freaking out for a good while about having you as my giftee (you talented you), I gathered my courage and set out to try and write you the holiday fic your heart seemed to desire. I hope it makes you happy. Happy Holidays!
> 
> (thanks to *insert name of most wonderful friend and beta ever here* for everything, especially the hand-holding. You know who you are <3)
> 
> title from Sarah McLachlan's _Wintersong_

To be completely honest, Merlin wasn’t that proud of it. He was aware that it made him pathetic at the very least, kind of really desperate at worst, and yet, when six o’clock arrived, he rushed out of his apartment without a second thought.

Halfway down the hallway, he turned around, rushed back inside his flat, scrambled over his bed to grab his jeans and pull them on right over his pajama bottoms (with little yellow ducks on them and a hole in the right knee), before running out again, only just remembering to grab the key hanging on a nail by the door.

The lift always took too long, so Merlin raced down the stairs, skidded around the corner in the lobby, and arrived at the mailboxes just as Arthur came in. 

His lungs screamed in protest, but Merlin took a deep breath and tried to look like he wasn’t hyperventilating. Fuck, he really needed to start working out. Jogging was a thing that people did, right? One of those things that made people healthy while others looked at them with disdain and envy because they seemed to have their lives together. People who have time and energy to jog _must_ have their lives together, Merlin was certain. He could totally be like them. He could.

“Good day?” Arthur said as Merlin opened his mailbox. Arthur looked up from the mail in his hands and gave Merlin a small smile—one that still managed to make his eyes crinkle a little at the corners—and Merlin’s heart beat a bit faster. At this point, it felt like he was two seconds away from going into cardiac arrest. They’d write ‘Cause of Death: Arthur Pendragon’s smile’ on his certificate, nay, ‘Arthur’s Pendragon totally unfair and stupidly attractive hotness’. His mother would be displeased, but not surprised. 

“Yeah. You?”

“Busy,” Arthur said as he closed his mailbox and locked it, Merlin half-mindedly doing the same. “But not too bad.”

“Oh right, it’s pretty much the holidays now. Lots of people shopping for their Christmas presents, then?”

“They are. But we’ve been receiving orders for rarer collectibles since July.”

“How very proactive of them.” Maybe Merlin should try that instead of running around like a crazy idiot a few days before heading to his mother’s house every holidays. Buying Christmas presents in advance ( _way_ in advance, holy shit), just like jogging, was something people who had their lives together did.

As they waited for the lift, Merlin was entirely too conscious of the quietness of the lobby, with its cold, pale, pink tiles, chromed corners and fake plants, and of the way his lungs were burning from trying to breathe normally. The air made a sort of soft wheezing sound out of his nose, and he hoped to every fucking deity out there that Arthur wouldn’t ask, since it’s not like Merlin could say, “I came home early today but pretended I didn’t so I could talk to you as usual, because it’s the best part of my day”. That would just be weird and inappropriate. Also creepy. 

“You’re not wearing any shoes,” Arthur said, staring at the closed door of the lift.

Shit.

As doors opened, they stepped in and stood side-by-side, Merlin curling his bare toes on the rough salmon carpet (what a dreadful colour, who decided on that?), and Arthur pushed the button for the fourth floor.

“I—” Merlin started. “I mean—” He shrugged and grimaced, then raised his eyes to the ceiling and hoped that his face wasn’t actually as red as it felt. “Nope, I got nothing for that one.”

Arthur threw his head back and laughed, loud and sudden, like Merlin had never heard him do before, because Arthur was always quick with the smiles and quiet laughter, but there just hadn’t been much chance for more with only their little meetings at the mailboxes. Arthur’s laugh was amazing. It filled the small space of the lift, bounced on the mirrors and echoed deep in Merlin’s bones where it settled without his permission like it was its birthright.

God, it was so sad to have such a ridiculous crush on a man he barely knew.

If Merlin was one of those suave people that could make propositioning somebody look smooth and cool and like sleeping with them was the most brilliant thing a person could do, like it was a goddamn privilege to be fucked senseless by them, then he’d have shagged Arthur months ago. As things stood now though, the only thing Merlin knew he could accomplish was to maybe croak out something inane or entirely inadequate like _I want to lick every inch of your skin until I’ve memorised your taste_ , or _the thought of touching you makes me so fucking hard I think you should put me out of my misery and suck my cock_. Apparently, thinking about shagging Arthur turned Merlin into a pathetically clichéd second-rate porn actor. Without the sex. 

“Any plans for the evening?” Arthur asked.

“No,” Merlin said as Arthur bent down (and Merlin tried not to stare) to dig into his bag, unable to find his keys. “Some reheated takeaway, and a depressingly unsuccessful search for affordable flats that aren’t infested by vermin or that won’t smell like piss.”

Arthur froze and stood up quickly, startling Merlin as he turned to face him with a surprised look on his face that quickly shifted into a small frown.

“You’re leaving?” he said in a soft voice, and took a step toward Merlin. “But—But—you’ve only just moved in, like what, five months ago?”

“Four months and three weeks, but who’s counting.” 

Merlin was counting. He’d been since that first day when he’d come back from work, arms loaded with his last box, and Arthur had come in at the same time and held the door for him.

They’d taken the lift together and realised that they were living across from each other. Arthur had smiled at him, something wide and honest, full of slightly crooked teeth that made his whole square-jawed, high-cheekboned, blue-eyed face even more perfect somehow, and bugger it all, Merlin had almost swooned.

“Oh um, maybe? I don’t really want to, to be honest, but there has been talk about cuts and budgets and all that bloody stuff at the museum, and it’s unsure if they’ll be able to keep two archivists full time and, well, I’m the newbie so I’d be the one getting the boot, or at least seeing my hours significantly lowered, which means I won’t be able to afford this flat _at all_. Nothing’s sure, mind, I’m just trying to be… proactive. I guess. My mother assures me it’s what adults do.” 

Someone make him shut up.

“Well,” Arthur said, cleared his throat. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Yeah, me too. I… I actually like it a lot here.”

Arthur blinked, his face softening, and said “I’m glad,” before clearing his throat again and finally fishing out his keys from his bag. “Well, good night, Merlin.”

“Good night, Arthur.”

Back in his apartment, Merlin took off his jeans and let himself drop on his sofa with a sigh.

Fuck.

He wanted to ask Arthur for a drink, really he did, or to invite him for dinner, or to do something neighbourly (not a euphemism, though Merlin would be hard pressed to tell anyone what a neighbourly activity could be, but if Arthur _did_ take the suggestion as a euphemism for “fuck me hard until I can’t remember my own name,” then Merlin wouldn’t argue).

He let his head fall against the back of the sofa and rubbed his face with his hands. Merlin just didn’t know how to go about making things with Arthur _more_. It’s not like he was socially inept, or shy—he’d even been known to successfully flirt on more than one occasion—but it was like being a teenager again, all unsure of his thoughts and body, and wanting things so much he didn’t dare reach for them lest he fucked them up. There was a lot of fucking up (and subsequent, inevitable humiliation) in his teenage years that he’d much rather not repeat thank you very much. 

A knock came at the door as he was about to get up to reheat what was left of the weekend’s Chinese takeaway, and Merlin stared at it, momentarily frozen on the spot because he didn’t know anybody who would visit him. Since he’d moved to the city and this flat, he hadn’t met a lot of people other than his work colleagues, and had no close friends that would give him an impromptu visit.

He tripped over his running shoes on his way to the door and collided against it with his shoulder, a loud sound that resonated in his quiet flat and rattled the frame.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice said through the wood. “Are you alright?”

Merlin winced.

“Arthur, hey,” he said, opening the door, and rubbing his shoulder.

Arthur seemed slightly worried and looked Merlin up and down like he was making sure he was alright, but then his gaze settled on Merlin’s legs and he grinned. “Nice pajamas. Do you have a duckie for your bath as well?”

“Oh, shut it,” Merlin mumbled, dipping his head so Arthur wouldn’t see him smile. “What can I do for you?”

Arthur turned a bit red, hummed under his breath and shuffled his feet, and if that wasn’t the most adorable thing Merlin had ever seen beside basketfuls of puppies and kittens and bunnies, he didn’t know what it was.

“Hum, I was—You mentioned, earlier I mean, you mentioned reheated takeaway, which is really gross by the way—”

“It really isn’t that—”

“ _Really_ gross, Merlin. And, well, I was wondering if…” Arthur took a deep breath. “I’ve made lots of pasta and a salad and you’re welcome to have some if you want. It’d be far better than whatever you were planning to eat.”

It was a high probability that Merlin’s brain had given up on him and he had gone to his happy place without proper notice. “Um… you mean, like… are you inviting me for dinner?”

Arthur let out a small breathless laugh and passed his hand through his hair, and Merlin’s chest filled with warmth, too stunned to properly push it down and to stop it from spreading everywhere.

“Well,” Arthur said, “I guess I am, yeah. Or I mean, I am offering you food. If you’re busy or would prefer eating while flat searching, I can bring you a plate.”

“No!” Merlin cringed. “Flat searching can wait. Fuck being proactive and all that. Proper adults also know when to let go, right?”

“Says the man with the duckie pajamas.”

Merlin looked down at himself. “Oh. Yeah, I better change before—”

“No need. You’re fine like that. Come on before the food gets cold.”

Merlin froze. He watched Arthur go back inside his own flat, weirdly unable to follow until Arthur poked his head around the door when he realised Merlin wasn’t behind him, and said “Do you need me to hold your hand to help you cross the hallway, Merlin?”

Merlin had thought about this before, about what Arthur’s flat would look like, what it would say about him. If he was neat or a slob (conclusion: a bit of both actually).

The walls were white, and mostly bare, but there was a colourful rug over the wood floor in the living room, and a comfortable-looking sofa, but Merlin was instantly drawn to the longest wall in the room lined with shelves full of objects. 

Toys.

Old ones, yes, but unmistakably toys. The shelves were full of them: trains, and tin soldiers, blocks, and music boxes, little animals and puzzles, all perfectly lined and in what looked like very good condition. 

It shouldn’t have been surprising, considering, but it was—surprising, weird, and unexpected, but also sort of wonderful. 

Merlin reached out and gently touched the faded, pink skirt of a small ballerina placed close to a tin soldier whose paint was barely flaking, angled toward each other in a way that reminded Merlin of Andersen’s fairy tale. That Arthur might have place them there with that in mind just filled Merlin with a soft sort of glee. 

Arthur came in from the kitchen with a bowl of pasta in each hands and placed them on the coffee table in the middle of the living room.

“These are really nice,” Merlin said, sat on the cushion Arthur put on the floor for him, and pulled one of the bowls toward him.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Arthur said, coming back from the kitchen once more with the salad, some bowls and the cutlery. “I do own a toyshop, after all.” He frowned, looking up at Merlin. “I did tell you that, right?”

He had. He’d slipped it in their usual casual chit chat a couple months ago, and it still hadn’t computed in Merlin’s mind. It seemed so… whimsical somehow, quite at odds with Arthur’s clean-cut looks and football player shape. Though looking at him now—wearing jogging bottoms instead of his fancy trousers, and a plain, old shirt in place of the crisp, white one—he looked softer and younger, and it seemed less far-fetched, but still sort of incredible.

“You should come by one day,” Arthur said, sitting on his own cushion in front of Merlin. “The shop’s all decorated for the holidays right now. Freya’s really proud of it.”

“Freya?”

“My manager, official window dresser, and decorator. She’s a bit magic when it comes to making things look attractive. I swear half of the customers we get from the street on any given day are lured in by her window displays.” 

“I really need to see that, then.”

Arthur looked up from his food and gave him a small smile that looked hopeful, and Merlin had a hard time convincing himself that maybe he was reading too much into it. “You really should. I’d give you a tour.”

The first bite of pasta, rich and flavourful, made Merlin moan, and Arthur looked so smug that Merlin pinched his lips and kicked him under the table.

His eyes fell on a picture on the corner of the table and he pointed at it. “When was this?”

“Summer before uni,” Arthur said around a mouthful of noodles. “My father took me to Spain to celebrate.” 

Merin peered closer at the picture: Arthur, unmistakable with his bright, pale hair, and large blue eyes, even with his face slightly rounder, stood with his arm around a tall man, with short grey hair and a stoic face, though not unhappy looking.

“You both look very happy.”

Arthur was quiet for a moment, then he put his fork down and leaned back against the sofa. “My father wanted me to take over the family business once he retired. And I was going to, got my degree and everything. I _am_ rather good at it.”

“But?”

“Fucking hated it. Absolutely hated it. Corporate business is the most boring thing in the world, trust me. I mean, the shop’s a business too, but it might as well be an entire fucking alternate universe as far as I’m concerned.”

“So you quit your job with your dad?”

“Yeah.”

“And you got a _toyshop_ instead? How does one even go getting a toyshop?”

“I inherited it, in fact.”

“Oh, well that’d do it.”

Arthur snorted softly. “It wasn’t… easy. But it helped that Morgana decided she wanted to be a part of the business and proved incredibly good at it.”

Arthur wrapped his arms around his knees and Merlin found himself sort of fascinated by the naked toes peeking out of the bottom of his trousers, and wondered how it was possible for toes to be this cute. Which really was just a bit creepy and probably a tiny bit too obsessive at this point. 

Clearly, he needed help.

“Who’s Morgana? If you don’t mind me asking?” He added quickly, forcing himself to look at Arthur’s face and not at his entirely too distracting toes.

“My sister. Well, half-sister really but…” He shrugged. “What about you? Have any siblings?”

Before he knew it, Merlin was telling him stories about growing up with only his mum in Ealdor. How his best friend Will used to blame all their pranks on him, and how miserable he had been in university before he lucked out and found Gwen, Elyan and Lance. Moving to the city had been a bit terrifying, but how he liked it even if he still got lost half of the time, that his job was amazing, even though he didn’t know anybody and—

Arthur seemed to think it sounded lonely, but Merlin didn’t feel that way at all. Truth was, he loved the quietness and he didn’t mind really not having any real friends here. He talked to his mum and Will often, exchanged emails with Gwen on an almost daily basis, with the occasional post scriptum from Lance, received postcards from Elyan all the time from all the places he visited, and had a few online friends too. It was enough, really.

It was so easy to talk to Arthur as they sat together in the middle of his living room—in the soft orange glow from the floor lamps, Arthur’s eyes on him, smiling and teasing, like he really cared, like he was interested—and Merlin was thrilled and happy that he could share these things with him. They weren’t incredibly personal things, and Arthur never really broached the subject of his family or the shop much, letting Merlin do most of the talking, but he’d told a few hilarious uni stories of his own, and it was… nice. Really nice.

Arthur’s mobile rang in the middle of his own story of the first (and only) time he found himself naked in the middle of the street at four in the morning during a carnival, all of it apparently the fault of a man called Gwaine (apparently everything could always be blamed on Gwaine).

“Sorry,” Arthur said, got up and smiled at Merlin—who was trying to catch his breath after laughing too much, still hiccuping little bursts of laughter as he clutched his stomach (Arthur was wrong, Merlin wasn’t _giggling_ )—and pushed Merlin’s leg with his toe as he said “Hey, Morgana,” into his phone.

Merlin watched Arthur’s face changed from being opened and carefree, full of laughter and happiness, to something more somber and strained, in the space of a few seconds. He sat up straighter, all laughter gone.

“Oh,” Arthur said in a small voice, and “I just… Can we talk later? I…” as he rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist. “No, I mean—Give me a moment okay?” Arthur put down his phone and tugged down his shirt, passed his hand in his hair. “I’m sorry, Merlin, this could take a while.”

“Is everything alright?” Merlin asked, standing up. It wasn’t really his place to pry, but he couldn’t stand the way Arthur’s shoulders were drooping, made him want to reach out and hold his hand, the desire so strong and unexpected he had to curl his fingers into his pajamas. 

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Arthur said, straightening up. “I’m really sorry.”

“Oh no, it’s fine. It was very generous of you to invite me in the first place. That food was definitely way better than the reheated takeaway.”

Arthur made a grimace.

“Don’t knock it. I bet you’ve never tried it,” Merlin said with a small smile, and almost whooped with joy when Arthur rolled his eyes at him. “Well… Thank you again for having me.”

“It was my pleasure. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Definitely.”

Arthur’s smile was so sincere and happy, regardless of the fact that it didn't quite reach his eyes, that Merlin found himself rooted to the spot in the deserted hallway for a long moment after the door closed.

Saturday mornings in the Emrys household were for pancakes with lots of butter and jam, a tradition Merlin tried to uphold as much as he could because a) pancakes were delicious and b) they were one of the few things he could decently cook. He was quite looking forward to ingesting an insane amount of them when he looked in his refrigerator and found he didn’t have enough eggs.

Now, normally Merlin would go and ask Mrs. Coolidge next door to help him (it wasn’t the first time that Merlin forgot to do a proper shopping for the weekend. He’d always told himself that he’d make a list on Thursday nights so he could bring it with him on Friday mornings and shop after work—because it seemed very sensible and responsible and adult-like—but had yet to do so). It would be too goddamn _cliché_ to ask Arthur instead, and besides, he wasn’t that desperate (no, really, he wasn’t), but after last night’s dinner all he could think about was that he wanted to see Arthur again.

He groaned and banged his head on the counter. He needed to stop this… this longing and lusting. It was _wrong_. For all he knew Arthur just wanted to be friends, or worst, neighbourly (not a euphemism!), and Merlin’s pathetic pining felt so incredibly inappropriate and deceitful. 

And yet—because apparently Merlin was a horribly selfish bastard—here he was, opening his door and standing in front of Arthur’s before he could think twice about it.

The door swung open almost as soon as Merlin was done knocking, taking him by surprise. A woman with blond unruly hair, wearing a pretty yellow dress, looked at him with a broad smile, said “Hi, there!” before taking a small sip of the coffee mug she was holding.

“Um, hi?” The woman only cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “I’m Merlin. I’m Arthur’s neighbour?”

“You’re Merlin? Merlin the neighbour?”

“I… yes. That’s me. I was just—I needed— is Arthur here?”

“Oh yes! He’s in the bedroom with Mithian.” She stepped aside and let Merlin in. “I’m Elena, by the way.”

Merlin just knew his face was burning. “I really don’t think—”

Elena laughed, making the coffee sloshed dangerously, threatening to spill all over her dress. “You’re a bit adorable aren’t you?” Merlin shuffled his feet and she gave another delighted laugh.

“Are you laughing on your own again?” another woman said, coming out of the bedroom with Arthur.

“Arthur, guess who I found lurking in your hall?” Elena said. “It’s Merlin. Merlin the neighbour!”

Merlin couldn’t even think about protesting that he hadn’t, in fact, been lurking because it was quite possible his brain had momentarily shut down, died, fried up—it wasn’t working. It was in the happy place again, no doubt, since Arthur was positively glowing in the white light coming through the window in all his shirtlessness glory. To be fair, Merlin wasn’t about to complain what with the sudden assault to his eyes of unexpected naked flesh and tight, ripped muscles (and _nipples_. Jesus buggering fuck).

“I just came to—Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just gonna go now.” Merlin knew his face was even redder than before, and it was sort of really hard to look at Arthur in the eyes. He didn’t know why he felt so weird, it hardly was the most awkward situation he had ever been in in his life (to say the least).

“It’s okay,” the woman said. “Don’t pay attention to Elena, she loves embarrassing people.” She smiled warmly, pushing her glasses back up her nose with a knuckle, brown hair tied up in a messy bun on her head that made her huff to get stray strands out of her eyes. “I’m Mithian.”

“Mithian and Elena like ambushing me in the morning before I’ve even had coffee, and assault me. They can’t get their hands off me,” Arthur said with a grin, bumping his shoulder against Mithian’s, making her snort and roll her eyes.

“Arthur, dear,” Elena said, and put down her cup on the coffee table. “No one’s here for your dick, you know that right?” She winked at Merlin as Arthur sputtered indignantly and Mithian poked Arthur in his side. Merlin laughed incredulously, possibly a bit hysterically, under his breath.

“I seem to remember a time when you were,” Arthur said.

“I was thirteen! For fuck’s sake, you are tarnishing my innocence in front of poor Merlin. And put a shirt on, you wanker.”

“What innocence?” Arthur yelled from the bedroom, before coming back wearing a soft-looking worn shirt that did its best to hide all the glorious skin under it. Merlin sighed, and could swear he heard an angel cry at the great injustice of it all.

“It was just a kiss, Arthur Pendragon, and no dicks were involved, you fucking pervert.” She looked at Merlin. “His ego is still bruised that I chose Mithian over him.”

“It’s payback for making me think I was so horrible at it, it made you gay,” Arthur said with a bright smile, then looked at Merlin too. “There was pining, lots and lots of pining.”

“You keep telling yourself that.” Mithian pat him on the head and grabbed her coat from the back of the sofa. “We really need to go if we don’t want to miss the train. Arthur, you sure—”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll be fine. You girls go and have fun and get stupidly sloshed. Just try not to get arrested like last year.”

“We promise there won’t be any indecent snogging this time.”

“More like indecent exposure,” Arthur said as he helped Elena untangle herself from her scarf before wrapping it around her neck properly, making her laugh and punch him in the arm.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Elena said, grabbing the handle of a suitcase by the door.

“They took you to the police station.”

Mithian raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed Arthur on the cheeks. “You sure?”

Arthur sighed and hugged her. “I’m sure, now will you just fucking go before you blame me for making you miss your train.”

Elena looked at Merlin. “One day he’ll learn that everything can be blamed on him.”

“I thought that was Gwaine,” Merlin said.

“Oh, I like him.” Mithian smiled.

“Okay! Out. Both of you. Now.” Arthur pushed them out the door with their coats still undone and their suitcases trailing behind them, bumping on the doorframe, but still kissed Elena’s head as she walked passed him.

“Bye, Merlin the neighbour,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “I like your duckie pajamas!”

Bugger. 

He’d forgotten about those. 

When the door closed with a loud click, things got quiet and awkward really fast.

“Eggs!” Merlin said loudly, cringed, and then softer, “I mean, I was making pancakes and I realised I needed eggs and I thought I’d ask you if you had any.”

“Pancakes?” Arthur said, going to the kitchen and pouring himself another cup of coffee, wordlessly offering Merlin some, and putting it back down when Merlin shook his head.

“Yeah, my mum always made them on Saturday mornings. It’s sort of a tradition.”

“Well we wouldn’t want to break tradition now, would we?” Arthur opened his fridge and gave Merlin a carton of eggs. “Just take whatever you need.”

Merlin took the eggs, but looked at Arthur more closely. His smile didn’t reach his eyes entirely, not in the way Merlin was used to when Arthur smiled at him almost every day, or when Arthur laughed loud and bright and beautiful yesterday evening. He seemed a bit more distant, and Merlin thought of the phone call he received from his sister, and the way Mithian had looked at him before she left. 

“Are you… Are you alright?” Merlin asked. “It’s none of my business, of course, just…”

Arthur sighed and put down his cup, leaned against the counter and crossed his arm over his chest. After a moment, he said, “Every Christmas,” in a soft voice, looking down at his hands, “I used to go to my father’s with Morgana and we’d have a stilted dinner and a cursory gift exchange and… I hated it. In a way. But it was what we’d do every year and I guess there’s a sort of familiarity in that, you know?”

Merlin only hummed, afraid to break the moment by saying something wrong, so he just put the eggs on the little kitchen island and sat on one of the stools. 

“My father passed away earlier this year,” Arthur said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, he’d been sick for a long time and it was almost a relief to see him go. I know it sounds horrible, but… He was suffering a lot.” Arthur took a sip of his coffee and ran his hand through his hair. “Anyway, I was hoping—It’s weird to think that I won’t be having our traditional, stilted and passive-aggressive Christmas dinner this year. Morgana will be overseas and...” He shrugged. “Elena and Mithian wanted me to go with them, but I just didn’t want to impose on their families. All the pitiful looks would have killed me.”

“I liked them,” Merlin said, because he didn’t know what else to add, beside apologising for something that was completely out of his control.

Arthur smiled at him. “They’re the best. And I’m sure I’m going to receive invitations from most of my friends by the end of the week, because I guarantee you that Elena texted them all the moment she sat in that taxi. She probably even gave it a name like ‘Operation Let’s Save Arthur From His Lonely and Sad Christmas.’”

“You don’t want to spend Christmas with your friends?”

“It’s not that. They’re family, I know that, but they also have their own families that would be very happy to receive me and I’m sure it’d be fine once I’m there it’s just… ugh, I don’t know.”

Merlin was struck by a reckless idea. Something a bit crazy, maybe, but he felt it take root in his chest and and grow with all the possibilities it possessed.

“I’m also alone,” Merlin said. “For Christmas I mean.”

“What?”

“My mum won a cruise and is taking my uncle with her, he’s old and sick and she said the sunshine would do him good. Besides, with my job, I couldn’t have gone with her. We’re used to it though. When I was in uni and had to work too, I generally couldn’t go home for Christmas so we always celebrated it later. It’s not something that bothers me.” Merlin bit his lip and looked at Arthur through his lashes. “But if you want, I mean, I know you don’t really know me, but if you want, we could just spend Christmas together. Maybe? You don’t have to, obviously. No hard feelings.”

Merlin curled his fists in his pajamas where Arthur couldn’t see them and hoped he wasn’t blushing too bad. He was half expecting Arthur to freak out and kick him out for being such a nosy, creepy arsehole, but instead Arthur smiled wide at him, his whole face changing with it until there was no trace of the previous sadness, and it struck Merlin how easy it had been and how wonderful it was to be the one who did that.

“That’d be brilliant,” he said.

“Wait. Really?”

“Yeah, I’d love that. We could just have something simple, no pressure. What do you usually do?”

“Just dinner and have a Christmas movie marathon of some sort.”

“Well, let’s do that then. It’d be more fun than just doing it alone, no?”

Merlin relaxed, . “Yeah. Definitely.”

“Great! Wow, that’s just… Thanks.”

Merlin waved a hand to dismiss Arthur’s apologies, unable to talk past the lump in his throat at Arthur’s utter earnestness and gratitude and fucking overall gorgeousness. And maybe that’s what made Merlin push his luck a little bit more, the way Arthur was smiling at him, and the way the winter light came slanting through the kitchen window, bright and daring him to take chances.

“How about some pancakes?” he said. “In exchange for the eggs.”

Arthur laughed and shook his head incredulously at Merlin. “You—Jesus—Yeah, I’d love some pancakes.”

“Great, let me get my stuff from my flat.”

“I’ll make some tea?”

“Oh, that’d be brilliant. Do you have some peppermint tea?”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “That’s not proper tea, Merlin.”

“It tastes like Christmas.”

“ _Oh my god_ , you uncultured swine. Get your pancakes and I’ll pretend we never had this discussion.”

“ _Merliiiinnnn. Merlin, it’s good to hear from you!_ ”

“Will? Are you drunk?”

“ _Fucking plastered, mate, but that’s not why I’m calling._

Merlin sat down on his sofa, laughing. “You always call me when you’re pissed, what’s different now?” Merlin could hear Christmas music, people shouting and singing, and what sounded like a very drunk Santa making lewd comments to the tune of _Let it Snow_. “Are you calling me from your office Christmas party?”

“ _Merlin. MerlinMerlinMerlinMerlin._ ”

“Yes, that’s my name.”

“ _Cheeky. But yes. It’s different because Christmas. Because Christmas and also you’re a lonely, sad sod stuck in the city without me._ ”

Merlin rolled his eyes and reached for the TV remote. “Yes, I cry every day we’re not together.”

“ _As you should_.”

“Life’s terribly unfair, obviously,” Merlin said.

“ _Look mate, buddy, bro… whatever. Here’s what—Look, you’re sad and lonely—_ ”

“You’ve said that already.”

“ _Also shagless_ ,” Will said as someone behind him yelled about elves and threesomes.

“Jesus, what kind of party are you having?”

“ _One with shags. Something you’re not having. Keep up._ ”

Merlin groaned. It’s not like he didn’t want a shag, preferably with Arthur, what with the way he had been shirtless and beautiful last weekend with the muscles and the nakedness and his bluer than blue eyes, bright and wide, all of it making Merlin too warm under his skin (and turning him into a cheesy romance novelist apparently). But there’d also been the way Arthur had smiled at Merlin, boyish and joyful over a plate of pancakes, his hair tousled and unfairly blond in the morning light, in the quietness of the flat filled with sunlight and the smell of baking. All of it had settled into Merlin’s veins in a way that made him want to reach across the breakfast counter to lick and kiss the jam at the corner of Arthur’s mouth, and push his hand into his hair, not because Merlin only wanted to shag him, but because he found himself craving all of those quiet and small moments in-between too. It had been so domestic and perfect, even when Arthur had to cut it short after a phonecall from Freya and he had to get ready to go help at the shop.

Merlin passed a hand over his face trying to get rid of the longing that filled his stomach, pooling at the base of his spine every time he thought about it. This silly crush was getting out of hand.

“ _You should come spend Christmas with me and the family so your loneliness won’t kill you no more_ ,” Will said, his slurred words more and more difficult to hear over the noise.

“I’ll pretend you did not just quote Britney Spears to me.”

“ _You got the reference so what does that tell you, huh?_ ”

“That we both need to update our pop culture references. I have plans for Christmas.”

“ _Wanking to_ A Christmas Carol _aren’t plans, mate_.”

“Oh my god. I do not—For the last time it was just playing on the telly while I was jerking off, I wasn’t doing it _to_ it!”

Will guffawed, the bloody arsehole. “ _Admit it, you had the hots for grumpy, old, Mr. Scrooge_.”

“Will, I was fourteen. Pretty sure at that point, just _breathing_ could give me a hard on and anyway I am not having this discussion with you again, certainly not when you’re drunk and calling me from what sounds like a North Pole orgy.”

“ _It’s great, mate, Mrs. Claus is humping Rudolph right now._ ”

“Jesus.”

“ _Um, no, you don’t wanna know what Jesus is doing, believe me. What are your lonely and sad Christmas plans then?_ ”

“Well, I’m spending Christmas with Arthur, if you must know. It won’t be lonely and I sure fucking hope it won’t be sad.”

“ _Arthur? Neighbour Arthur? Merlin, mate, are you finally shagging the poor bloke?_ ”

“No I—”

“ _Aw shit, I gotta go. Frosty the Snowman just arrived._ ”

“Do I even—No, nevermind. Try not to puke on your boss this time.”

“ _I make no promises._ ” Will hung up and Merlin was left in the silence of his flat with only the telly on, lights moving across his living room in eerie flickers.

He was half-asleep when a knock on his door startled him. Once again he wasn’t that proud of the dash he made to the door, hoping it was Arthur who he hadn’t seen since their pancake… date? Since they had breakfast together. In Arthur’s flat, with them in their pajamas. Normal friendly, neighbourly... stuff. 

Yeah.

He opened his door without looking through the peephole and came face to face with a man he’d never seen before, shorter than Merlin, with long brown hair and a playful grin that Merlin was instantly certain meant trouble.

“Merlin?” the man said. “Merlin the neighbour?”

“Yes?”

The man looked at him up and down. “Nice pajamas,” he said with a smirk. “We’re taking Arthur to the pub. You’re coming with us.”

Just as Merlin was about to ask who the fuck the man was, the door to Arthur’s flat opened and out came Arthur and two other tall men, one of them built like a fucking tree and rather intimidating, all things considered, but also vaguely familiar. Merlin thought he might have seen some of them before, crossing paths with them coming in and out of the building.

Arthur often had people over or dropping by. Merlin knew because he heard them sometimes saying their goodbyes or, on occasion, making a ruckus at two in the morning. He’d never really taken a look through his peephole like Mrs. Coolidge did, because that was nosy and also would make him a creepy creeper who creeps, and that wasn’t on. He drew the line at secret longing, subtle ogling and the occasional wank fantasy. 

Something clicked in Merlin’s mind. “Oh. You must be Gwaine.”

“My reputation precedes me, I see. Most excellent.”

“Not sure it’s a good thing, mate,” the tall man with red hair said as he extended his hand to Merlin. “I’m Leon.”

“Merlin.”

“Merlin the neighbour, yes. We know.”

Merlin looked at Arthur who was pinching his lips together and looking at the ceiling.

“Er. So. Pub?”

“Pub, yes,” Gwaine said with a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “We’re getting Arthur pissed before we all leave for Christmas as he’s staying here all alone like the poor sod that he is.”

Merlin had the sudden impression Will and Gwaine would get along well. Probably too well. Note to self: in the unlikely event of Will and Gwaine ever being in the same room, make sure they are on opposite sides.

Merlin looked at Arthur, unsure if he should mention anything about their plans, or if even Arthur still wanted to do something with him for Christmas. Maybe Arthur had changed his mind. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek against the sudden wave of disappointment that came over him, but Arthur gave him a small smile and a raised eyebrow, and Merlin’s heart fluttered like the easy thing that it was.

“I’ll just…” Merlin waved at himself. 

“Oh, I don’t know, Merlin,” Arthur said. “You seem awfully fond of this outfit.”

“Elena calls him ‘Duckie Man’ now,” the built-like-a-tree man said. “I’m Percival, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you. And it’s not like I wear this all day,” Merlin said, turning back to Arthur.

“Whatever,” Arthur said. “You coming or not?”

Merlin stuck out his tongue at him and ignored the voice in his head that sounded too much like his mother telling him to grow up. Sorry mum.

The pub was loud and Merlin was probably drunker than he should be on a weeknight, but Percival, Leon and Gwaine were having an animated discussion about some footy club or another, and while Arthur interjected on occasion he mostly stayed closed to Merlin’s side. Close enough that Merlin could feel the heat radiating from his body through his clothes, and his breath glide over his cheekbone as he leaned into Merlin on occasion to whisper into his ear.

Apparently Gwaine had a propensity for sleeping with people who turned out to be rather interesting and colourful (Merlin had the distinct impression Arthur was being kind with his word choice), and Leon was strangely known for his tendency to lock himself out of places, like his office or his house. Usually naked. Leon refused to give more details when Merlin prompted him to explain how he’d found himself stark naked outside his building at three in the morning just last week and had to call Arthur to come and get him from where he was hiding behind a bush. Why he had his mobile with him, but no trousers was a mystery that no one could solve.

“I don’t ask anymore,” Arthur said. “I just do.”

“You’re a true friend.” Merlin nodded.

Leon snorted. 

“Not so true that it’d stop him from texting us a delicious picture of Leon’s white arse poking out from said bushes, bless him,” Gwaine said. He still had the picture on his mobile.

Merlin felt bad and bought Leon a pint which earned him a wide smile from both him and Arthur. 

“Being naked outside in the middle of the night seems to be a frequent occurrence with you,” Merlin said.

“Arthur told you about the carnival affair, didn’t he?” Percival gave a pointed look in Gwaine’s direction.

“It was Gwaine’s fault,” Leon said, taking a sip of his lager.

“So I’ve been made to understand.” Merlin turned toward Gwaine.

Gwaine shrugged, leaned back in his chair, and gave him a playful grin. “That’s okay, it probably was.”

Even when the others started a rather lively game of darts, Arthur stayed close instead, and told Merlin an elaborate story about Percival and a wooden peg.

(“I’m telling you this so that you have ammunition when they inevitably start teasing you, Duckie Man,” he’d said and Merlin hadn’t complained, just inched closer to Arthur and took a sip of his pint to hide the pleased look he knew was on his face at knowing that Arthur _wanted_ Merlin around, even if it was just as a friend, though the way Arthur’s hand casually stayed for a long moment on Merlin’s thigh gave Merlin hope for something else). 

Merlin was seriously considering taking Arthur’s hand in his, when a small brunette dropped in a chair beside them.

“Oh my fucking god, give me alcohol,” she said, grabbing Arthur’s pint from his hand and gulping half of it down. “I’ve finished wrapping everything up, you bastard. That holiday bonus better be a good one.” She looked at Merlin and the lines of her face softened as she smiled. “You must be Duckie Man.”

“Merlin.”

“I’m Freya,” she said, shaking his hand.

“Your bonus will be amazing, and you’ll love me forever,” Arthur said taking back his pint as Gwaine walked past and slid one in front of Freya, and gave her a kiss on the cheek before going back to his game of darts. “And thank you, you’re the best, Frey.”

“Damn straight, I am.”

“Arthur told me that you singlehandedly brought customers to his shop through the power of your window display skills.”

“Well I wouldn’t go―”

“That’s right. He’d be lost without me.” Freya winked.

Arthur leaned in and poked her in the side. “That’s true,” he said with a fond smile that Freya returned.

She turned her glass between her hands and looked at Arthur with concern. “Arthur. You’re really just going to stay here for the holidays? You know you can always―”

“I’ll be fine Frey. Seriously.” Arthur’s hand found Merlin’s forearm under the table and squeezed lightly in a way that made Merlin think he was trying to be reassuring. It was working because Merlin could only focus on the fact that Arthur didn’t move his hand afterwards.

“If you say so…”

Arthur changed the subject and Merlin just listened to him and Freya talk about the their job for a while.

“You know,” Freya said, turning to Merlin. “He flatters a lot, but truth is, he lets me manage pretty much everything, and lets Sefa, Deagal, and George work the front of the store, while he just putters in the back in that stuffy office of his.”

Arthur spluttered. “You make it sound like I do nothing. I take care of all the general orders and the books.”

“Leon takes care of our books, Arthur.”

“Well fine, but I also take care of our special customers and the orders for collectibles.”

“And you do that very well,” Freya said, and took a sip of her lager. “Though I swear you added that to our store’s services just so you would have an excuse to browse antiques for hours.”

“Stop sullying my good name in front of Merlin.”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Merlin said leaning forward. “Tell me more.”

“Oi! Bloody traitor…”

Freya laughed out loud. “Elena and Mithian were right about you, Merlin the neighbour.” Her eyes flicked to Arthur then back to his, and she nodded. “I’m glad.”

Arthur’s hand tightened over his arm under the table. Merlin blushed.

The night was chilly, but not unbearably cold, even as their breaths left little puffs of clouds in the air. Merlin was still just enough drunk that it made him wonder about how warm Arthur’s mouth must be.

“Come,” Arthur tugged on Merlin’s sleeve. “I’ll show you something.”

They walked in silence, shoulders brushing lightly once in a while like it was the most natural thing in the world. Merlin had to hide his smile in the collar of his coat as he glanced at Arthur from time to time, his profile both stark and smooth in the orange glow of the streetlights, his hair a little too long over his forehead, his cheek and the tip of his ear and nose red from the cold.

Merlin was strangely calm. There was often this nervous edge to the time he spent with Arthur, something made of longing and need for him and his body and his time, his company. He felt bad about it, like he was lying to Arthur, greedy and needy. But right now, loose from their evening in the pub, in the dark and cold night with only the sound of their footsteps on the pavement, the occasional car passing by, Merlin felt settled and happy. He didn’t need more. This was enough, in a way, to be this close to Arthur and share moments like this one with him, this quiet walk through the sleeping streets.

He didn’t dare give himself too much hope, but he thought that there might be something between them, something that Arthur wanted too, and for the first time Merlin felt like he could wait, like there was time.

“Wait here,” Arthur said and turned Merlin around by the shoulders so that he was facing the street and not the buildings. “Don’t look.” He digged in his pockets for keys and Merlin waited as he listened to him opening a door.

When the lights came on, the only thing Merlin could see was their watery glow across the street, stretched and fuzzy in the puddles, white and red and yellow like circus lights.

He startled when Arthur breathed “turn around” in his ear, warm breath fanning over Merlin’s cheek.

Merlin gasped at the sight: a wide window illuminated by tiny white lights, and a winter scene made of little houses, and kids skating on a frozen pond, old fashioned toys standing guard behind, teddy bears and nutcrackers, with dozens of silvery snowflakes suspended by red strings twinkling over it all. And above the window and the door, there were the red and yellow lights around a sign that said _Tintagel_ in bold red letters.

Arthur knocked his shoulder against Merlin’s, gave him a pleased smile.

“Are you Santa?” Merlin asked quietly, as if there were any chance of it being true. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Come.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s sleeve again, pulled him inside, and Merlin was just overwhelmed all over again.

Arthur had left the harsh overhead lights off so that the store was only lit by the Christmas lights hung absolutely _everywhere_. There were even three Christmas trees all lit and decorated with tiny toy ornaments.

“Holy shit. Freya really fucking deserves her bonus.”

Arthur laughed. “She’ll be glad to know you agree.”

Lit like this, without the harshness of neon lights, cast in half darkness, the shop really looked like something out of a fantasy land. There were toys suspended everywhere, soft Christmas music playing through the speakers, and Merlin’s chest felt so _tight_ , so incredibly full of longing and nostalgia and that bright, consuming feeling of being a child. It was both terrible and wonderful. Merlin followed an electric train with his eyes as it went around the whole of the room, and laughed again, ignoring how watery it sounded.

“Are you sure you’re not Santa?” he said trying to dislodge the tightness, feeling a bit ridiculous for it.

Arthur just gave him a smile. “I said I’d give you a tour.”

“I can’t help but notice that you’re not answering my question. Granted, you’d be a much younger, and much fitter, Santa, but… could happen.”

“I like that you’re struggling with the fact that I’m not old and fat, and not with the small, inconsequential detail of whether or not Santa exists in the first place.”

“I didn’t know that was even in question.”

“Well, no. Why would it be?”

“Exactly.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head, but gave Merlin a look that made his heart skip and his skin prickle. Arthur took Merlin on a little tour of the store, up and down the aisles, stopping the longest in front of a glass case with several antique toys inside, similar to the ones Arthur had in his flat. He was animated and joyful and so beautiful Merlin wanted to hold his hand and never let go.

“I can’t believe you have a toyshop,” Merlin said for what felt like the tenth time, and he was aware of the awe in his voice (and maybe a little bit of adoration too, but come on, Merlin didn’t care if he was supposed to be a responsible grown-up, no one could resist this. No one.)

“It’s not like you didn’t know.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and gave him a sheepish grin.

“But a _toyshop_ , Arthur. At Christmas. Where did you put your reindeer? Where are the elves hiding?”

Arthur just rolled his eyes again, but glanced around, took a deep breath, and he looked so proud and content and a bit giddy in the way he shifted on the balls of his feet, that Merlin wondered if he’d mind being kissed, right now, just so Merlin could see what that happiness tasted like.

“Let me show you something else.”

Arthur brough him to his office at the back. It was tiny and full of shelves overflowing with books and papers and bits and pieces of… everything really (there was a doll leg propped against a series of folders, but Merlin wasn’t going to ask about it). The space was mostly filled by a huge wooden desk, worn and old, with scratches and stains and grooves all over its surface. 

Arthur moved the chair out of the way and pulled Merlin down with him as he kneeled in front of the leg space under the desk. It was tight; Merlin had to shuffle closer until he was leaning on Arthur, a hand over his knee to keep his balance.

There, carved in the side of the desk in crude, almost childlike letters, was the name ‘Ygraine’.

“Is that your mum?”

Arthur nodded. “This store was her family’s business. She grew up in it.” Arthur reached out and traced the letters with his finger. “Sometimes, when I work, I imagine her as a little girl, hiding here, maybe at my grandfather's or grandmother’s feet, carving her name carefully.”

Merlin kept silent, conscious that this was precious, that Arthur was sharing something that was special and beloved to him, and feeling so grateful and lucky for it.

“The store went to my uncle when she died. He hated my father and me, blamed us for her death. I didn’t even know about it until he was dead and it was suddenly mine. I guess no matter how much he hated me, he couldn’t bear to have it leave the family.”

Merlin was glad Arthur’s uncle did, because now that he had seen it, he couldn’t imagine Arthur being anywhere else. It was clear he loved this place more than anything. But Merlin was also angry that Arthur’s uncle kept it away from Arthur for so long, kept something that was a part of his mother, and his history, out of spite and grief.

“My father thought I kept the shop because I wanted to be close to something my mother had cared about, to be closer to her because I never knew her, but that wasn’t it. I mean, of course it’s _nice_ , but to be honest, I had sort of made my peace with all that at that point. After the solicitors gave me the keys to it, I came here and I just…”

“Fell in love with it?” 

Arthur’s face softened and he put his hand over Merlin’s. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But… I like thinking about it, about her and how she loved this place and…” He turned away so Merlin couldn’t see his face and said softly―so low Merlin had to strained his ears to hear him even though they were very, very close―“I hope… I like to think she’d like the way it looks now, and how well it’s doing.”

Merlin turned his hand up and curled his fingers around Arthur’s, squeezed until Arthur turned back to look at him. “There is no doubt in my mind that she’d love it, Arthur.”

Arthur swallowed, then nodded. “Thanks.”

He wanted to tell Arthur more, not sure exactly what, but he contented himself with the moment, the stillness around them, Arthur’s hand against his as he gave his mother’s name a last look before standing up. Merlin followed him, his fingers slipping away. 

“We should get a tree,” he said.

Arthur passed a hand over his face and smiled bright, shaking the intensity of the moment off. “You’re right. I’m sure we have some cast off decorations somewhere that Freya didn’t use.”

They went to the back store which was a giant mess of boxes and shelves and toys of all kinds. Merlin guessed with the holidays being what they were, there probably wasn’t that much time to keep things in order.

“We never got to talk about what we’d do,” Arthur said as he dug around. “What do you want for dinner?”

Since they both had to work on the twenty-fourth, they agreed that Arthur would just pick up something on his way back, neither of them caring if it was traditional or not. 

“I’ll make a spice cake. I’m really good at it,” Merlin offered. 

“Cake and pancakes, but reheated takeaway, I see where your priorities are now.”

Behind at least two boxes overflowing with empty containers for all the decorations used in the storefront, Arthur finally found a box with extra lights and tinsel. “Let’s take a taxi home,” he said. 

Merlin stopped him when he was about to close the lights again, took a last look at the store and sighed.

“Thank you for showing me this.”

“Anytime.” 

Merlin shivered when Arthur’s fingers brushed against his.

Two days later Merlin met a Christmas tree in the lobby of his building. A talking Christmas tree.

“Shut up, Merlin, and help me.”

“Rude. You should learn some manners. Didn’t your tree-mother raise you better than that?”

“I hate you _so_ much, right now.”

“Lies.”

They spent the evening decorating the tree, something Arthur confessed to not having done since he was thirteen or so, which made Merlin so sad he let Arthur put on the tree topper at the end even though it was Merlin’s favourite part to do. He was a generous, selfless chap like that. 

And no matter what Arthur said, there had been no shimmying of his booty to Bing Crosby. That was something his mother did. Not him. Merlin was cool. (Merlin had no excuse for when he tripped on the edge of the rug and face planted into the tree though. None. At least there hadn’t been any decorations in it yet.)

It had been worth it, though, to see Arthur’s face when they lit up the tree, the tiny colourful lights reflected in his eyes, a slow look of wonder spread over his face like he had never seen a Christmas tree before. Merlin slowly leaned into him until their shoulders touched.

“Not bad for someone who hadn’t done it in years,” Merlin whispered when Arthur looked at him.

Arthur wrapped an arm around his shoulders, said “I’m glad we did it,” with his gaze fixed on the tree and Merlin closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy Arthur’s warmth against him, the solid weight of him.

“ _So have you shagged him yet_?”

“No, Will, we haven’t. I promise to tell you as soon as it happens. I could even call you mid-shag if you want. Let that be my proof.”

“ _Kinky._ ”

Merlin snorted. “God, you would. How was your orgy? How many Christmas traditions were defiled this time around?”

“ _You make it sound like it’s a bad thing_.”

“Were you sick on your boss?”

“ _Nah, mate, not this year._ ”

“Small mercies.”

“ _I did wake up with Eliza from acquisitions._ ”

“Eliza… Eliza… the hot one that let you stay at her place when you were pissed last St-Patrick’s and―”

“ _And we promised not to mention it ever again, your arsehole. But no. That’s Julia. Eliza’s her mum._ ”

“Oh my god.”

“ _Forget the age gap, mate. She’s really, really hot. And wickedly experienced. The kinky kind. Like… hey, come to think of it, she kinda looks like your mum―_ ”

“Oh my god!”

Merlin hung up.

Merlin’s workday on Christmas Eve had been rather uneventful, and he’d finished early, taking the extra time baking the spice cake he promised Arthur. It was clear as soon as Arthur knocked on his door that the day hadn’t been as kind to him. Though he was smiling, the lines of his face were a bit long and he had dark circles under his eyes, his tie was loosened, his hair a mess. Merlin wanted to smooth it all out with his fingertips.

“I got dinner,” Arthur said, holding up a bag that smelled delicious, and then, “You’re wearing glasses,” when he took a better look at Merlin.

Merlin touched the side of his face, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious. “Oh yeah, my contacts bothered me all day.”

“I like it. Suits you.” Arthur smirked. “You’re like, proper hipster with them.”

“Oh, shut up.”

They ate while watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , close together on the sofa, all the lights off except for the tree and a couple of candles (“So we can see the food properly,” Arthur had said, and Merlin could have sworn he blushed).

It was a quiet affair, nothing to write home about, but Merlin never wanted it to end. They squabbled over what movie to watch next and Arthur won, so Merlin made him watch a cheesy made-for-tv movie afterwards—one he watched with his mum every holidays—and enjoyed every groan and every derisive snort of laughter Arthur made, but in the end Merlin decided to be the better man and not tease too much when―no, okay, he wasn’t the better man.

“That was a sniffle.”

“I did _not_ sniffle, Merlin.”

“I’m telling everyone you sniffled at the ending of _Borrowed Hearts_.”

“I could tell them you never take those bloody duck pajamas off. Honestly, don’t you have another pair?”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m Duckie Man now. I have a reputation to maintain.”

He’d like to say he totally saw the cushion headed for his face, but that would be a lie.

Merlin woke up curled up on Arthur’s sofa with a warm blanket thrown over him. He blinked a few times in the quietness of the flat, dark but for the lights of the Christmas tree, and stayed still, listening to the whistling sound of the wind outside. There was still the faint aroma of spices and cake, of the tree, sharp and green. The multicolored lights cast their shades over the rug and tiny toys, the ornaments glittered and shone over Merlin’s skin as he got up quietly, feet almost silent, to look at his reflection in one of the baubles. The distorted image made him smile.

The sound of flushing startled him. Arthur opened the door of the loo, scratched his stomach, took a few steps into the room before he realised Merlin was there. He got this really adorable look of confusion and sleepiness on his face that made Merlin burst out laughing. He wanted to pinch Arthur’s cheek and kiss his nose, and tried to shake the fondness he felt, knew was all over his face, but he couldn’t, didn’t want to.

“Did I wake you up?” Arthur said, rubbing his eyes. “Why are you laughing?”

“You’re sort of cute when you’re sleepy.” Merlin bit his lip. “You’re like a child,” he added quickly, not sure if that made it better or worse (worse, it made it worse).

Arthur just shook his head and looked away, pinching his lips together, but Merlin could see he was trying not to smile. Something gentle and hopeful unfurled in his stomach.

“Tea?” Arthur said, walking to the kitchen before Merlin could answer, though he let his hand brush Merlin’s when he walked past him and Merlin shivered, stuttered a deep breath out, curled his toes against the rug.

Arthur leaned against the counter while the kettle boiled. The tiles were cold under Merlin’s bare feet so he jumped to sit on the breakfast island in front of Arthur, swinging his feet back and forth. Both of them stayed silent. It was comfortable, easy to relax into the moment, into the smells and the faint light from over the stove, the slight frost on the window, and Arthur, all soft-edged and rumpled. 

Merlin reached with his toe to poke him on the hip feigning innocence when Arthur mock-glared at him. He did it again when Arthur looked away, feeling giddy and childish in all the best of ways. Arthur grabbed his ankle on the third try and used his other hand to move the kettle off the heat. Merlin frowned, but still wiggled his toes into Arthur’s loose grasp. 

A small gasp, loud in the silence, escaped Merlin’s lips when Arthur let his hand slide along his leg until it was curled lightly on the side of his thigh, standing between Merlin’s knees, close and breathlessly beautiful.

“Merlin, can I―”

“Yes.” A rush of hair, urgent and needed between his lips as his fingers grasped the edge of the counter.

Arthur leaned closer with a smile and, “You don’t even know what I was going to say,” his breath ghosting along Merlin’s lips.

“Don’t care,” Merlin said. “Just don’t stop touching me.”

“Okay.”

The kiss wasn’t hesitant, but it was barely there, barely felt, just a brush of Arthur’s lips and gone. Still, it shocked Merlin and he chased it, claimed it, by grabbing the back of Arthur’s neck and pulling him forward, knees tight around his hips. 

Merlin hadn’t realised how deep his longing had gone until that very moment when Arthur angled his head so that their mouths could slot together better, his tongue a wet lick on Merlin’s bottom lip, sending lust and heat all along his limbs until he was almost clawing at Arthur. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, wanted to touch Arthur’s shoulders, but also the moving muscles of his chest, and the hardened nipples under his shirt, the solid line of his jaw, feel the way his hair slid between his fingers. He couldn’t settle, couldn’t breathe when his tongue touched Arthur’s, the taste of his mouth overwhelming, and it made him moan and pull at Arthur harder, closer. He whimpered, sounding wounded and needy, but couldn’t stop it, couldn’t bring himself to care. None of it seemed like enough, it was terrible and it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

Arthur pulled back to speak in the warm space between them, said “Merlin,” low and lovely, so lovely to Merlin’s ears and, “Merlin, breathe.” He wrapped his hands around Merlin’s wrists and brought his hands over his chest where Merlin could feel the steady rise and fall of his breaths, the beating of his heart, and he curled his fingers into the soft fabric, tried to calm down, to clear the haze over his mind, his whole body.

Arthur made a few soft shushing noises and Merlin wanted to roll his eyes, to tell him he wasn’t a bloody pet that needed to be calmed, but he was just too absorbed by the way Arthur nuzzled the side of his neck, dragged his lips along his jawline, all slow and gentle, his hands solid and steady over Merlin’s.

Merlin leaned his head against Arthur’s forehead. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Been wanting―I mean. I just―”

“Me too.”

“Oh.” Silence. “That’s good, then.”

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for months now, probably by the second or third week,” Arthur said.

“Why didn’t you?” He placed a kiss to the corner of Arthur’s eyes, to his temple, across his cheekbone, urgency coiling hard inside his muscles once more, until Arthur’s hands tightened on his and Merlin let his whole body relaxed into the solidity of Arthur, the steadfastness of his calm. 

“I always go too fast,” Arthur said, and settled his hands on Merlin’s thighs. “I rush it and it crashes. I don’t really get it but―I really liked you and I figured―I wanted―I mean, I thought that since we were neighbours I could see you so often... I could take my time. It’s not like meeting someone in a shop, and then quickly asking them out over a jar of pickles because you don’t know when you’re going to see them again.”

Merlin’s heart skipped a beat and his chest felt tight. “You wanted it to work so much that you waited all this time?”

“I just wanted to see where it would go naturally, without me pushing at it like an idiot until it blows up in my face after a few weeks. I figured if it wasn’t meant to be then there would be no harm no foul. But I… I wanted it to work.” Arthur kissed Merlin’s cheekbone. “I really wanted it to work.”

Merlin kissed Arthur’s nose, a quick peck, a smack of the lips, something he’d been wanting to do for a while now, for no particular reason. It was rather brilliant actually, especially when Arthur wrinkled his nose a little in disdain and glared at him.

“You did push it in the end, though,” Merlin said.

“Well, you told me you were going to move. Fuck that, I wasn’t letting you go without trying.”

“I was—am— _maybe_ going to move Arthur. Maybe.”

“Shut it, you didn’t complain.”

“No. Never. I’d been wanting that… this, for months too.”

This time, Merlin took his time kissing Arthur, made it slow and wet and languid. Arthur leaned into him, keeping Merlin steady, weirdly settled. Merlin slid his fingers into Arthur’s hair, just as Arthur licked inside his mouth, moaned breathy little sounds between Merlin’s lips, spread his hands on Merlin’s back.

“Too fast?” Merlin said, and closed his lips on Arthur’s jaw.

“Months, Merlin. _Months_.”

Merlin laughed and kissed down Arthur’s neck, groaning in satisfaction when Arthur stretched his head to the side to give him more space. Merlin pulled at his shirt collar to expose his collarbone, let his lips drag a wet stripe across, blew over it and made Arthur shiver.

“Merlin?” Arthur said, voice small and a bit hesitant, but hands firm and solid against Merlin’s sides as Merlin hummed quietly, leaning into the touch. “You know, me not telling my friends about spending Christmas with you, it wasn’t―it’s not because I’m ashamed of it, you… us.”

Merlin pulled back, head bent to try and catch Arthur’s eyes. “I never thought that.”

Arthur nodded, his lips quirking a little, like he knew that already but had just needed to say so anyway. “I didn’t tell them about us doing this together because I knew they would tease and make innuendos and I didn’t know if it’d scare you away or not, and I… I really didn’t want you to get scared away”

“I don’t scare easily.”

“Yeah.” Arthur bumped Merlin’s nose with his. “I was a bit worried you’d take the whole thing with Mithian the wrong way, you know, with me half undressed and us coming out of the bedroom, and yet you offered me pancakes. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances.”

Merlin cocked his head to the side and pretended to think. “It’s kinda hot actually.”

Arthur looked at him, blinked. Merlin raised his eyebrows, and smirked when he caught the way Arthur’s eyes widened a bit. “We’re going to revisit that later.”

“Sometimes when I’m home early, I still go down to pick up my mail at six just so I can, you know...”

“Oh. That explains the shoes.”

“I just couldn’t find a way to talk to you more. It’s ridiculous, I don’t know why I didn’t ask you out ages ago.”

“Maybe we were both too worried of ruining it.” 

“I’m glad you’re not put off by my creepiness.”

“It’s rather adorable to me right now actually.”

“You’re weird.”

“Says the grown man in the duckie pajamas.”

Merlin punched him lightly on the shoulder and took a look at the clock. “Oh, it’s after midnight,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

Arthur smiled. “Time for presents.”

“Arthur, we said no presents.”

“It’s just a little thing, I swear.”

“You’re such a liar. I didn’t get you anything.”

“I’m sorry, I tried, I really did.”

“You failed miserably, then.” Merlin poked him in the forehead.

“Pathetically so.” Arthur looked infuriatingly pleased with himself. 

“Well, don’t be so proud of it, you idiot. Our relationship is based on lies. We’re doomed.”

Arthur just rolled his eyes. “I think we’ll be fine. You’ll have to let me go if you want to know what it is.”

“I don’t think so. I’m perfectly fine where I am, thank you very much.”

“Fine.” Arthur took Merlin’s legs and wrapped them around his waist, took his arms and put them over his shoulders, said “hold on,” and lifted him.

Merlin felt a bit delirious with the happiness that filled him as Arthur carried him to the living room, so giddy, in fact, he didn’t even glare when Arthur dropped him on his arse beside the tree, though the nice snog he got as an apology probably helped abate his annoyance. (It was clear he would need to work on not being so easy. It wouldn’t do to let Arthur win all the time.)

Arthur only let Merlin go when he was breathless (and somehow on his back with Arthur between his leg and Jesus fucking Christ he _was_ easy) and completely incapable of a coherent thought, then shoved a package in his hands.

“Tease.”

“You can wait a little,” Arthur said with a grin, but Merlin was satisfied to see that he wasn’t as collected as he was acting, breath a little too fast, skin a little too flushed.

“Months and months, Arthur. And naked skin and muscles and snogging and―”

“Open your present, you baby.”

Merlin huffed but tore open the bright, red paper. He took his time though, made sure to wait until Arthur was fidgeting a little, fingers twitching against his knees like he wanted to reach out and hurry Merlin up.

Merlin let out a laugh when he unfolded the bright red pajama bottoms with little sheep all over them.

“You don’t like the duckies?” he said, teasing.

“I love the duckies. I think the duckies are adorable and sexy as fuck.”

“And yet”

“There’s a hole over your right knee and the fabric is almost threadbare. It’d be nice to give the duckies a night off once in a while.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate.” He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. “It’s so soft.”

“I washed them a couple times so they’d lose the stiffness and stopped smelling like the store.”

Fuck, but if that wasn’t the sweetest thing, Merlin didn’t know what was. He brought the fabric to his nose as soon as Arthur wasn’t looking and closed his eyes for a second to inhale the scent of Arthur’s soap.

Merlin was about to climb over Arthur with every intent to slide his hands under his shirt and over his sides to feel all that soft, soft skin of his, warm and perfect, when his mobile he’d left on the coffee table rang.

“S’my mum,” he said, after a look at the screen.

Arthur pushed him aside with fingers that poked him in the soft part of his waist and made Merlin twitch. “I’ll make tea and some toast while you speak with her.”

“Peppermint tea?”

“Still not proper tea, Merlin.”

“But it’s Christmas!” he yelled after Arthur, then answered his phone. “Hey, mum.”

“ _Merlin, love, Merry Christmas! Did I get it right? The time difference? It’s after midnight for you, yeah?_ ”

“Yes, it is.” Merlin closed his eyes for a moment, happy to hear his mother’s voice. “Merry Christmas too, mum. How’s the cruise?”

“ _Oh Merlin, it’s fabulous._ ”

Merlin started to poke around Arthur’s living room while listening. He felt loose and heavy, weirdly grounded, like all the shifting pieces inside of him had locked together and he was solid and still. 

He let his fingers glide along the shelves with Arthur’s toys on them, only dimly illuminated by the lights in the tree. Merlin smiled. It was such a strange, yet sort of wondrous collection to have, but it so _worked_ with Arthur now that Merlin knew him more, and he found himself fascinated with each and every single objects on the shelves knowing that Arthur had chosen them, wondering if there was a story or a specific reason behind each choices.

“ _Merlin, are you listening?_ ”

“Yes, of course. How’s Uncle Gaius?”

“Better. Much better. I’m almost dreading bringing him back to dreary, old England.”

“That’s good to hear, though.”

“ _He’s having a grand time._ ”

“Lies. I’m sure he whines about the way they make tea all the time and spends his every waking hours plotting how to get revenge on Geoffrey for beating him at chess.”

A loud bang came from the kitchen that sounded like a dozen pots falling on ceramic, followed by a string of, frankly quite imaginative (Merlin was impressed) expletives that made Merlin both laugh and cringe, covering the mouthpiece on his mobile.

“I’m alright!” Arthur yelled. “I think I killed my favourite pan, though.”

Merlin snorted.

“ _Merlin, honey, who was that?_ ”

“Oh, forgot to tell you, I… I’m spending Christmas with Arthur.

“ _Arthur? Neighbour Arthur?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Fucking finally._ ”

“Mum!”

“ _I’m sorry, love, but you know it’s been a long time coming. How is it going? Oh, did I interrupt something?_ ”

“Not really, no. It’s going well, I think.”

“ _Is it serious?_ ”

“It’s very new. I mean… I hope it is, or will be… Maybe?” Merlin put his hand on his stomach, tried to calm the twisting there, the hope and the need that flared inside of him. “It’s very new,” he repeated.

“ _You should bring him home with you when you come for Christmas._ ”

“Mum, I’m not sure… I’d love to but it’s a bit soon to have him meet my mother. I think. I don’t want to scared him off by pushing. I think we’re aiming for slow.”

“ _Well, think about it. You know he’s welcome anytime, and I… I’m happy for you, love._ ”

“I know. I love you, mum.”

“ _Love you too. Merry Christmas._ ”

“Merry Christmas.”

Merlin hung up and took a deep breath to try and settle himself once more. Arthur was still puttering in the kitchen and Merlin stood there listening to the strangely comforting sounds, but couldn’t stop the flutter in his chest when he heard Arthur humming something Merlin didn’t recognise. For a moment he could see himself going to him to slip his arms around his waist and nuzzle behind his ear. It’d be nice. It’d be natural.

Merlin turned away, stopped himself from doing something that was potentially too intimate, and poked at Arthur’s stereo instead. Maybe he could find some station that played Christmas music, something that’d cover all the little sounds that made him yearn, made him want more. Fondness bloomed in his chest at the fact that Arthur still had a stereo in the first place, with a CD and cassette player and everything. There were even a few tapes stacked on the side, and Merlin picked one up. 

A mixtape. 

Jesus. Arthur had _mixtapes_.

This one seemed to be from Elena, actually. Her name was written in pink in the corner with a little heart beside it and the tracklist carefully handwritten on the back. She must have given it to Arthur when they were in school. Merlin picked up a few others, laughing at the fact that they were mostly from girls: Vivian, Josephine, Olivia, Margaret… and oh, Sebastian too. God, what a slag. Arthur had kept them all. Still listened to them too, from the looks of it. 

Merlin pushed the open button to the CD player to see what Arthur had listened to last. He let out a burst of laughter when he found the Best Of Bon Jovi. That explained so many things. He picked up the case beside the player and turned it around, not surprised to see a note from Morgana.

Merlin curled his fingers around the case, suddenly dizzy and hot all over. He stood up and looked around at Arthur’s toys, and the frames with pictures of his friends and family, the cassettes, and Arthur’s favourite movies carefully lined beside the telly. At the tree they had decorated together— _god_ —with Arthur peering around the branches at Merlin, gleeful and happy like a little kid, and at the spot at the foot of it where not even fifteen minutes ago Merlin had been on his back, Arthur’s sure strong hands all over his skin—careful and confident Arthur that hadn’t wanted to scare Merlin away because he didn’t want him to leave, not knowing that there wasn’t a place Merlin wanted to stay in more than here, with him.

Merlin’s hands shook and he squeezed the CD case harder.

Fuck.

This was more than a crush. This was _so_ much more than a crush.

“Merlin?”

Merlin whipped around to see Arthur standing there in his boxers and old Deep Purple shirt that Merlin was suddenly certain probably dated from his high school days, socks on his feet, and mugs of steaming tea held in each hand. One had a TARDIS on it, for fuck’s sake. Arthur had such a soft, expectant, and open look on his face, Merlin felt his stomach clench almost violently with the sudden need to tell Arthur how much he never, ever wanted to leave, that he could stay here, forever, he could, if Arthur wanted him to. They could go as fast as the speed of fucking light, Merlin didn’t care.

“You,” he said instead, pointing at Arthur with a shaky hand and the case still clenched in his fingers, heart hammering in his ribcage, “are _such_ a dork.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, calmly put down the cups on the coffee table, then flicked two fingers at Merlin.

When Merlin woke up a second time, all he could register was warmth and softness, the faint smell of detergent on the sheets, and Arthur. Merlin burrowed deeper into all of it, wriggled until he could feel Arthur along his body and the soft skin of his side against his nose to nuzzle and kiss lightly.

He thought he’d be surprised to wake up like this, in Arthur’s bed. With Arthur. (Obviously it would probably be weirder to wake up in Arthur’s bed without Arthur, unless Arthur had just gotten up to get breakfast or go to the loo, or maybe go to work because it’s a weekday and Merlin should probably get up too so he could also go to work and yes he was getting carried away again). It wasn’t strange at all actually. It probably should be since Merlin hadn’t woken up like this with someone in months (okay two years, it had been a bit of a dry spell), or gone to bed with someone he liked this much in even longer, maybe never—but it wasn’t. Maybe that had to do with the lack of sleep due to a lot of fucking amazing sex and how stupidly comfortable Arthur’s bed was with its soft mattress and heavy comforter and freshly cleaned sheets. Sheets they had to clean at five in the morning because the aforementioned amazing sex had gotten rather messy (Merlin had spilled the lube everywhere by accident before Arthur could get his hands on him to calm him down, but that didn’t matter as much as all the other things they spilled together nudge nudge wink wink). 

It made Merlin smile though, because even though Arthur had given him an exasperated look and poked him in the sides in retaliation for dirtying his bed, it had led Arthur to throw caution to the wind with a grumbled, “If we’re going to have to wash these we might as well make it worthwhile,” and proceeded to make Merlin a very, very happy man. 

It turned out that Arthur didn’t have any spare sheets, and Merlin thought that it was badly done since proper adults should probably have more than one set of sheets for their bed, but he refrained from saying anything because, obviously, he didn’t have any for his bed either, and besides it led to him and Arthur sitting on the washing machines in the basement of their building, leaning on each other while they played word games and ate cake (It turned out that Arthur didn’t believe in keeping a bit of cake for later, it had to be eaten continuously until there was none left leading Merlin to think his mother would love Arthur instantly if he could only gather the courage to invite him to go home with him for their belated Christmas). 

Arthur squirmed under Merlin’s fingertips and huffed a laugh that made Merlin smile wider, bit at his side, just a little glide of his teeth over Arthur’s lower ribs. It only occurred to Merlin then that Arthur was very much awake and actually sitting in bed. Merlin peeked over the top of the covers, blinked into the bright light that filled the bedroom, and sighed a little when Arthur wrapped an arm around him.

Arthur turned the laptop in his lap toward Merlin, helped him shift until his head was propped on Arthur’s chest, and Merlin could rub his cheek against the hair there.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Take a look at this,” Arthur said turning the screen so Merlin could see. He kissed the top of his head and Merlin had to turn his face into Arthur’s skin to try and muffle his gasp, the way the skip in his heart made it hard to breathe for a moment.

“Focus now, Merlin. Be soppy later.” Arthur poked him in the side, and Merlin bit one of his nipples in retaliation (it was unfair that Arthur was already exploiting his knowledge of Merlin’s tickle spots, the bastard). “I thought maybe my little soldier needed another little soldier,” Arthur said, words mumbled against Merlin’s hair.

“Who’s soppy now?” Merlin teased. “What will happen to the little ballerina, though? She’ll be all alone.”

“And we don’t want that, do we?”

“Well no,” Merlin said, fingers on the trackpad to open up a new page. “It’s not her fault her boyfriend found out he was really gagging for cock. Let’s find her a girlfriend.”

“You’re right. It’ll make Elena and Mithian happy, too.”

“We’re kind of totally changing Andersen’s tale, now.”

“Merlin, you spent half an hour last night telling me, in no uncertain terms, that you did not, in fact, wanked to _A Christmas Carol_ when you were fourteen. You said the word wank so much, with gestures I might add—as if I didn’t know what wanking was—that you have forever ruined this timeless, wonderful, tale that was, until last night, free of any masturbation connotations. So really, what’s another classic tale bastardised by queers and ill-timed teenage wank jobs?”

“More fun for all of us?”

“Exactly. Who gives a flying fuck about Andersen, Merlin? Let’s find our ballerina a hot girlfriend while the little soldiers go bunk together behind the nineteenth century music box.”

“I like our story better, anyway.”

Arthur opened a few tabs from his very impressive organised bookmark system (Merlin’s little archivist heart swooned, and of course Arthur had to mock. “Who’s the dork now, Merlin?”) so they could look at recent listings. Arthur explained what each website was for, and on which one he had found some of the things he now had on the shelves in his living room.

A part of Merlin wanted to mock him for it, for how obvious it was that he was an utter _nerd_ , maybe ask him if he watched _Antiques Roadshow_ when he was a little boy and entertained dreams of greatness in the vast and perilous land of antiquing. But the lines of Arthur’s face were soft and relaxed, his eyes animated and bright with passion, he moved his hands around, like he couldn’t help it, jostling Merlin. And his hair was so pale and blond in the sunshine diffused by the frost on the windowpane, it fell into his eyes in a way that made Merlin reach out to push it out of the way, letting go of the teasing on the edge of his tongue when Arthur stopped talking and looked at him with a fond look that made Merlin think—hope—that maybe yes, this, this could be it, this could be his.

“I need to do something,” Merlin said later, while sitting at the kitchen table and eating his (delicious and not at all gross) breakfast of reheated takeaway that he made Arthur promised him as a condition to get out of bed (Arthur had wrinkled his nose in disgust and it was so fucking adorable Merlin had decided to make it his mission to find more things that grossed Arthur out just so he could make him do the face).

Merlin grabbed his mobile and called Will, putting him on speakerphone.

“ _Fuck’s sake, whadda you want?_ ”

“I made a promise Will, and I always keep my promises.”

“ _So you shagged him?_ ”

Merlin looked at Arthur. “What do you think?”

“Shags happened. There definitely were some shag having.”

“ _Good on you mates. Took you bloody long enough. Now let me go back to sleep you fucking twats. Merry Christmas._ ”

Will hung up. 

“And that was my best friend,” Merlin said with a smile.

Only a few seconds later Arthur’s mobile rang. He reached out to look at it.

“It’s Mith.”

“ _Please tell me you shagged him, Arthur,_ ” was what she first said when Arthur answered.

“Speakerphone, Mithian.”

“ _So that’s a yes, then? You there Duckie Man?_ ”

“I’m here,” Merlin said, laughing, because it was all a bit ridiculous really.

“ _Ellie!_ ” Mithian yelled. “ _Operation Save Arthur From His Lonely Pathetic and Sad Christmas is a success. Merlin saved him. With his dick._ ” There was some whooping and laughing in the background, that Merlin _thought_ might be Elena. “ _I’m sorry, she’s still drunk and our mothers are having an intense knitting competition, it’s very exciting. Justin! Put that cracker down it’s for the dog. Sorry loves, I gotta go. Talk to you later._ ”

“Happy Christmas, Mith,” Arthur said, laughing.

“You too.”

After that there were several more phone calls from Arthur’s friends—including one from a tipsy Elena, one from a semi-coherent Gwaine with Percival translating in the background for Merlin’s benefit, and one from Morgana where Merlin thought she was going to grill him about his intentions toward her little brother until Arthur sent Merlin to take a shower so he could deal with her—after all that, Merlin found Arthur still sitting at the kitchen table working on his laptop, inexplicably wearing the pajama bottoms he’s given Merlin the night before. 

Merlin looked at him for a moment, let himself take in the whole of him, and did not repress the feeling that filled him, forced itself out of Merlin’s heart, even if it was overwhelming and a bit scary in its intensity.

He went to Arthur and slid into his lap. 

“What are you looking at?”

“Which one do you think your mum would like?”

Merlin turned around so he could look properly at the laptop. It showed an eBay page with a listing full of small, brightly decorated vintage boxes. “Those are pretty.”

“Which one would your mother like best?”

“Why?” Merlin squinted and peered closer at the screen and Arthur huffed an annoyed breath that still sounded like he was partly laughing and picked Merlin’s glasses from the table where Merlin had left them beside their dirty dishes.

“As a gift, idiot. For when we visit her when she comes back from her cruise.” Merlin looked at him, glasses only part-way up his nose, and Arthur reached out to push them up the rest of the way. “For Christmas.”

His tone might have been a bit teasing, but now that Arthur’s face was more in focus, Merlin could see the slight doubt in his eyes, the small line between his eyebrows.

“You heard that, didn’t you? Yesterday?”

“I did.” Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin, but his frown got deeper, so Merlin wrapped an arm around his shoulders, fingers seeking the warm skin under his collar, rubbing the bone of it with his thumb.

“Are we going fast, or are we going slow?” he said.

Arthur shrugged a little. “Both?”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, I get to meet your mother _and_ go through a wonderful first Christmas with your family, but I’ll also take you out for dinner tomorrow for our first date.”

“We’ve sort of had a few dates already, though.”

“Not officially.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I put out _before_ a proper first date?”

“Quite beautifully, I should say,” Arthur said. “Epically even. And several times.”

“Shut up.” He pointed a finger at Arthur’s nose, making him go cross eyed. “You better not say anything about that when you meet my mum.”

He was rewarded with Arthur’s bright smile, eyes wide and deep blue in the brightness of the room as it got wider and lit up his whole face. Merlin thought he could dedicate his life to making Arthur smile like that and be perfectly happy.

He looked at the laptop’s screen once more. “This one,” he said. “Mum loves butterflies.”

Arthur clicked the listing, bookmarked it, then shifted Merlin in his lap mumbling something about his bony arse that Merlin chose to ignore (obviously, he would retaliate at a later moment where Arthur wasn’t holding him so close and nuzzling against his collarbone). Merlin carded his fingers through Arthur’s hair, loving the way Arthur moaned in satisfaction.

“Shall I make some peppermint tea?” he said, turning his head into Merlin’s fingers.

“I thought it wasn’t proper tea?”

“Well, it’s Christmas. We can make exceptions on Christmas.”

“We can, but… later.” Merlin sat straighter, so full of happiness and affection that he needed to shift around to hide the blush it brought to his skin. “We’re in no hurry.” 

Arthur hummed, mouthed at Merlin's throat all soft warm lips and sloppy kisses, and Merlin absolutely refused to move away even a little bit. Not for now. Not for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you see any mistakes and/or typos, or have issues with anything in my fics, please free to contact me on [tumblr](http://emjayelle.tumblr.com) (anonymous option is on) or on [livejournal](http://emjayelle.livejournal.com). Thank you.


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